“Yes, you do. I've taught you the steps a dozen times. I'm going to begin with a redowa, because the girls like it, and it's better fun than square dances. Now, put on your gloves, and go and ask Polly like a gentleman.”
“Oh, thunder!” muttered Tom. And having split the detested gloves in dragging them on, he nerved himself for the effort, walked up to Polly, made a stiff bow, stuck out his elbow, and said, solemnly, “May I have the pleasure, Miss Milton?”
He did it as much like the big fellows as he could, and expected that Polly would be impressed. But she was n't a bit; for after a surprised look she laughed in his face, and took him by the hand, saying, heartily, “Of course you may; but don't be a goose, Tommy.”
“Well, Fan told me to be elegant, so I tried to,” whispered Tom, adding, as he clutched his partner with a somewhat desperate air, “Hold on tight, and we'll get through somehow.”
The music struck up, and away they went; Tom hopping one way and Polly the other, in a most ungraceful manner.
“Keep time to the music,” gasped Polly.
“Can't; never could,” returned Tom.
“Keep step with me, then, and don't tread on my toes,” pleaded Polly.
“Never mind; keep bobbing, and we'll come right by and by,” muttered Tom, giving his unfortunate partner a sudden whisk, which nearly landed both on the floor.
But they did not “get right by and by”; for Tom, In his frantic efforts to do his duty, nearly annihilated poor Polly. He tramped, he bobbed, he skated, he twirled her to the right, dragged her to the left, backed her up against people and furniture, trod on her feet, rumpled her dress, and made a spectacle of himself generally. Polly was much disturbed; but as everyone else was flying about also, she bore it as long as she could, knowing that Tom had made a martyr of himself, and feeling grateful to him for the sacrifice.